we'll stand tall and proud
by queen-sheep
Summary: All it takes is one blow, one foul, one knock of the ball and Minerva's slipping, falling from her broom. Ridiculously enough, all that's running through her head at that moment is, 'I hope it doesn't fall with me.'


_Written for QLFC Season 2 - Round 11_

* * *

><p><strong>December 31, 1958<strong>

"Minnie's back!"

The words resound through the house, travelling from person to person until the entire household piles at the fireplace. Minerva steps out, brushing ash from her dress robes, and smiles at her family.

She's tackled by Robert in a friendly hug, and although he's younger, he'd overtaken her in terms of height long ago. Malcolm comes forward next with a fond head ruffle and a wink. Her parents arrive last, and she gives them both a firm hug.

"You missed Christmas," her mother scolds lightly, stepping back to regard her.

"Yeah! I can't believe you were at _Hogwarts _this entire time. Working! It's called winter break for a reason, you know," Robert whines.

"What can I say," Minerva says smoothly, grabbing her bags and heading for the stairs. "At least I didn't get food poisoning from their food!"

"That was once!" he yells at her retreating back.

Minerva, her steps already lighter, heads for her old room. She hadn't lived here permanently in over four years, but it was exactly as she remembered it. A square room with cream walls and a comfy bed in the far corner. She sets her stuff down at the foot of the bed, and places her cloak on her bed before heading back down.

Only Malcolm is there in the living room, and he sits in front of a pile of gifts.

"All yours," he says, grinning.

She clicks her tongue. "You guys shouldn't have."

But she moves forward and starts unwrapping anyways. Her eyes brush over the items, and settle on the largest. It's long and lumpy at one end, and her heart stops.

"_Oh,_" she breathes.

There's no mistake. It's a broom. Her trembling hands reach out to unwrap it, and she runs her fingers over the sleek handle and the trimmed bristles. It's the newest model, she knows. She doesn't play much these days, but _back then, _oh, she was one of the best.

Until her last year, that is. If she closes her eyes she can still picture it as clearly in her mind as the day it happened.

…

_All it takes is one blow, one foul, one knock of the ball and Minerva's slipping, falling from her broom. Ridiculously enough, all that's running through her head at that moment is, '_I hope it doesn't fall with me.'

_In the few seconds before she starts plummeting for real, she sees everything. The alarm and terror on her teammates faces. The vindictively triumphant grins on the Slytherin team's faces. The crowd, murmuring, not yet comprehending what's going on. _

_And then she's falling, and it's so different from flying. _

_Her robes, bright red, tangle furiously with her limbs, rendering them immobile. Her stomach's dropped, and her heart gets stuck in her throat. Panic creeps in and claws up her chest; Minerva wants to scream, but she holds it in. She won't give them that satisfaction. _

_She's close to the ground now. She has a single second to brace herself before her back hits first. That first strike knocks out all the remaining breath in her lungs. Then her legs crumple down, and her head bounces off, and her vision turns abruptly black. _

_When she next opens her eyes, she's alone in the Hospital Wing. Minerva winces, and twists her head around to get her bearings. She tries to sit up, and pain lances through her midsection. Immediately, the matron is at her side, fussing. _

_"Don't sit up now, dear," she says. "You've got some broken ribs and a probably a concussion as well. I'll go grab the potions now."_

_Minerva flops back down, staring at the ceiling. Her mind is working overtime as she tries to process what's going on. And then it hits her. _

_The Quidditch game. She bolts right back up again, clutching her ribs, and then tries to stagger off the bed. It works about as well as she'd expected. Thankfully, the matron, upon hearing the commotion, bustles right back and rights her. _

_"What happened to the game? Who won?" she demands, ignoring the hands trying to push her down. "Tell me!"_

_"All this aggravation isn't good for your body! Please lay down!"_

_"I won't! Not until you tell me who won!"_

_A sigh. Then, "Slytherin."_

_Minerva feels like the floor just dropped underneath her. All the fight drains out of her body, and she slumps down. _

_Silently, the matron hands her a potion, and she numbly drinks it. It's Skele-Gro, but for once, she doesn't register the taste. All she knows is that word echoing like a mantra in her head: Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin. _

_There's a stern order for her to stay the rest of the day, and a quick overview of what a concussion entails. She absently nods. As soon as the older lady leaves, Minerva gropes for her wand, casting a quick spell to check the time. _

_It's far past lunch time. She's glad, because she's lost her appetite completely. _

_The next day, her entire team piles into the room at her bedside. _

_"You doing okay?" her captain asks. _

_"They wouldn't let us in yesterday," the team's beater complains lightly, rolling her eyes. _

_Minerva can see that they're all trying to cover up their frustration, despite their cheery words. She bits her lip, and doesn't say anything._

_At the end of the year, Slytherin is announced the winner of the Quidditch Cup. It starts a slow burn of anger in her, and she can't help but replay that one game, over and over in her head. _

_From then on, it's final. _

_She wants, no, needs to see Gryffindor beat Slytherin in Quidditch. No matter what. _

…

"I would ask what you're thinking, but I don't think I want to know," Malcolm comments, snapping her out of her daze.

She smiles winningly at him. "Thank you for the gift. I know _exactly _what I'm going to use it for."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "And what's that?"

"To train the Gryffindor team, of course! Just last month, we lost to Slytherin again. That's not going to happen again."

"Obsessed," Malcolm says teasingly.

"Dedicated," Minerva counters with a smile.


End file.
